


Melancholy

by Pulsing_GUTS



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Depression, First Meetings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Touch-Starved, Very light blood and gore, beta read because we are kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28758042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulsing_GUTS/pseuds/Pulsing_GUTS
Summary: After two years of survival and misery, the air doesn’t smell like it used to. It’s throat-tightening, horrid, and eye-watering.Despite this, the gore, and throat-wrecking cries, life still moved on, like always.And so did the people that still had their blood pumping and their chests rising. People adapt and move on, they get with the program and go.Those who don’t, are a different story.
Relationships: Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta who really helped me with making this, if you haven't read some of Lieyuu's works before I suggest you go do that.
> 
> Lieyuu's AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieyuu/pseuds/lieyuu  
> \---
> 
> This fic chapter contains panic attacks, signs of depression, and light gore mentions. All art shown in this fic is done by me.
> 
> \---

*

It’s been two years.

Two years since the world turned to turmoil. 

At first, the apocalyptic outbreak hit like a train, crushing hopes and destroying lives in a matter of seconds. It was terrifying, and it still is, how fast something comes, and how long it stays. It only took a month for social media and networks to go radio silent, and yet it’s been two years and counting of waiting for it to come back. 

After two years of survival and misery, the air doesn’t smell like it used to. It’s throat-tightening, horrid, and eye-watering.

Despite this, the gore, and throat-wrecking cries, life still moved on, like always.

And so did the people that still had their blood pumping and their chests rising. People adapt and move on, they get with the program and go. 

Those who don’t, are a different story.

  
  


*

  
  


The soft strum of a guitar.

Crunching of leaves.

A fragile man was growing impatient as he traveled down a deserted road. Tall, skinny maple trees towered over him, while a low fog swayed and drifted over his ankles. The grass was dry and gold in color, almost rich-looking. Just the smoke of a candle could ignite the entire area in a matter of seconds, engulfing the beautiful landscape with more destruction and heavy air. 

Another strum, this time followed by a tender hum. The young man held an acoustic guitar with the aid of straps stretching across his torso and shoulders. His hands were calloused and red, worn from the labor of surviving. His hair was matted, jeans shredded, with shoes dressed in mud and gore. His hoodie looked much the same, worn and dirty.

The world around him seemed pleasant, soft, and calming. When the wind blew past, the sound of thin leaves rustling followed. Rays of light made their way down through the branches and hit the ground, following him wherever he went.

Despite the shining sun, the air was chilly, nipping at the man’s nose and ears every so often. He was underdressed for the occasion; wearing just a thin hoodie, with a simple t-shirt underneath. He needed an actual jacket and possibly some sweaters.

Zak was his name. He was twenty, homeless, and decent at the guitar. 

Decent might be a bit of an understatement, but his mind was focused on the guitar in his hand and the melody flowing through his ears. It’d been ages since he’s made a song… back before the outbreak, he wasn’t musically gifted at all. Regardless of that, he had been in love with the thought of creating music, to the point where he installed a really crunchy and mediocre autotune software on his PC. 

Which did not end well. However, that’s not the point here. The point was that Zak was too absorbed in his tune to notice the impending danger moving ever closer behind him.

His hands strummed - every minute or two he’d retune it, adjusting till it satisfied him. He’d been picking at it and tuning it for hours now and was still not content with what he had. 

A grumble escaped him. He was irritated with it but was stubborn enough to keep trying. It didn’t help that the guitar itself was worn and missing a few strings, chipped and slowly breaking apart in his hands as he journeyed onward. 

He furiously strummed harder, his stubbornness soon took more control of his body. The poor guitar could only take so much - after the next handful of strums a single string gave out. It popped furiously and hit against Zak’s finger with a sharp sting.

That was where he stopped. His hands went still - aside from the subtle shake and shiver from the cold and stinging pain - while his eyes began widening at the broken string. A shaky sigh escaped him and he peeled the guitar off himself. It was useless now. His most prized (and only) possession was damaged, broken into bits and slowly decomposing in his own hands. 

“‘Course, you go dying on me too. Can’t have anything during the apocalypse, can I?” Voice trembling, he tightened his hold on the acoustic. “Perfect, just fucking great!” Zak sighed harshly, tossing the instrument aside and letting it break more against the base of a tree. Shame, really. Zak was running out of things to keep his hand and mind busy, out of distractions… and now running out of hope.

He kept his gaze on the guitar, watching the last remaining bits of it come undone. It crushed him to leave the instrument in such an uncaring position when that guitar was all he had left. Without it, he’d be forced to come back to the reality of the world around him. The  _ shit _ reality he was stuck living in for two years now.

Zak bit his lip, hard, shoving his hands into his pockets. He stood unmoving in the center of the maple forest and lowered his head, unsure of what to do, where to go, or even what to look forward to. 

Everyone he knew was gone, either half-eaten on the streets or across the oceans, where he would never reach. No communication, no physical contact. He was marinating in sorrow. With thoughts coming and leaving slowly, Zak crouched down to the forest floor, huddling into himself and pulling his hood over his head with desperate hands.

It was a breakdown. His emotions were flooding back faster than he could handle. The fear, the melancholy feeling, the guilt of everything. Before Zak knew it, his eyes were spilling out waterfalls of hot tears. Was he really this weak? Crying over some wooden instrument?

“F-fuck,” he choked, pulling the hoodie strings to tighten the hood around his face, hiding from the harshness of the world.

Everything hurt, everyone he ever knew was hurt, and it was hitting him harder than before. He’d been alone for two years - the lack of human interaction was driving him up the wall. He needed something, anything - any _ one _ . Just to take his mind off this crushing guilt.

Just anyone.

  
  
  


“I liked your song.”

Zak groaned, tugging his hoodie tighter and sniffling quietly to himself. Just great. Hallucinations. That was one more thing he didn’t need. It felt like the world was toying with him now, using his desperation for human interaction against him.

“Does it have a name? I’ve - uh - I’ve never heard it before.”

Surely he must be going insane. The voice sounded so clear, it sounded directly in front of him. How far deep in his manic episode was he? Zak’s hand fidgeted nervously. He refused to look around himself. He refused to be met with nothingness.

“Err, I was just heading to my camp when I heard you playing, i-it was very lovely -”

The voice wouldn’t shut up.

“- see, I noticed that y-your guitar is uh, not in commission anymore so I was wondering -”

_ Please, shut up. _

“- if maybe you’d accept the one I have, I don’t play the guitar so, it’s pretty much just gathering dust at my -”

“God, just leave me alone already! Shut the fuck up!” Zak cried aloud, forcing his hood down and whipping his head in the direction of the voice. He was tired of being tortured. He just wanted to be disappointed fast and get it over with... 

What he was met with was, instead, tired emerald eyes and a concerned frown to match with it. 

“Ah- sorry?”

\---

The boy’s name was Darryl, so Zak was informed.

To Zak, the name was oddly refreshing to hear. It’s been forever since he’s spoken to someone, let alone someone with a name like Darryl. 

What struck Zak the most, was the fact he’d forgotten almost all of what the other had said to him. He wasn’t sure how he even got to this position, on the ground with tears drying on his face… He lifted a hand to his forehead to rub it, letting out a confused groan while leaning further down.

His head was pounding, making his eyes strain and chest swell. It was all too much to handle. This new encounter - it felt like a freight train colliding directly against his body with no warning. 

Darryl placed a gentle hand at Zak’s shoulder, giving him a little shake as a voice of concern reeled Zak back from his weakening mental stability. He met the other’s eyes with his own, registering the look of confusion with a hint of trouble. 

“A-are you alright? You’re not, er.. hurt.. are you?” Darryl’s voice was shaky, just like his hand. “Please, allow me to help you, alright? I-I’ve got a place, not too far from here. And…” 

Zak couldn’t focus on the voice - it fell on his deaf ears.

He wanted to listen, he so desperately wanted to keep hearing the voice of another human, but the hand to his shoulder was pulling more of his attention. Zak wasn’t sure why, but it felt so overwhelming, it was too much! 

It was wrong, scandalous even - this wasn’t something he should be feeling. It was a reward to embrace another’s contact. After years without it, he’d been forced to conclude that he had to earn this type of… intimacy. 

He leaned away from the hand, then gave a brief nod. “Sure, I-I uh, I haven’t eaten in a while. S’just a headache, nothing serious!” He forced a laugh while using the thick maple tree beside him to pull himself up off the ground slowly.

“Do you live around here?” Zak spoke again, looking everywhere but at Darryl. “I didn’t come across any houses on my walk here, I honestly don’t know how long I’ve been walking for.” He admits, with a frowning face.

“I do,” Darryl nodded. “It’s not that far, I can take you there if you’d like, I’ve got some food to spare.” He smiled, warmly, Zak felt nauseous. 

“You don’t have to, seriously, I just…” Just what? Zak held his tongue - he wasn’t sure why he felt uneasy about it. The other man was welcoming him with hospitality and shelter… for free? That was concerning. Zak hadn’t come across many people this giving after the apocalypse. It was always rage and violence filling the air whenever he got even remotely close to someone. 

Yet, he wasn’t feeling anything like that. Instead, it was reassuring, and promising. This was terrifying - there had to be something Darryl wanted in return, and it would only be a matter of time before his true intentions came to the surface. 

“Nonsense! It's my treat, I’ve got extra clothes and resources too, plus I wouldn’t mind the company. I-it’s just a short walk that way..” He pointed to where the path continued through the maple forest. “But, of course, if you’ve got somewhere else to be, then I understand!” He lowered his hand and shoved it into his pocket, a sheepish and weary smile on his face.

Zak swallowed around the lump in his throat, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Nothing else to do, either, now that his instrument was in pieces. So, with a deep inhale, he nods. “I mean, as long as I’m not intruding.” He mustered up a smile, a little forced but hopefully with hints of genuineness. 

“You’re not!” Darryl replied quickly, smiling wider. “I promise, you’re completely fine, it’s been ages since I’ve had a guest anyways.” He chuckled, beckoning Zak to follow as he started down the path. “We should hurry, it’s almost dark and we wouldn’t want to be caught lost while those - things, are still limping around.” 

Things... Zak thought to himself. He probably means walkers. 

“Alright..” he muttered, trying to mimic the wide smile the other man showed proudly. Darryl had already begun to take lead on the path, but Zak stayed put. He took the moment to breathe, to officially ground himself and realize what had just happened. 

He met someone today, someone real and alive… He also had a breakdown directly in front of them too. That was embarrassing, yet the other didn’t seem to mind that much -he was thankful for that. His guitar also broke, that was… a bummer. During long walks through areas unknown, he’d always play a song or fiddle with the thing to keep his hands and mind at bay.

It was always a perfect distraction, and it’d be missed too. 

Zak exhaled heavily, the weighty feeling of guilt eased from his back. Things were looking a little lighter. Sure, his prized possession was in shambles, but he had a new distraction for his mind. 

And that was Darryl.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, few notes:
> 
> Sorry but I gotta discontinue my other chaptered fic, it was a really impulsive one with no good story following it and made me stressed as hell! However, Melancholy will continue to update, I have things pre-written and a really helpful beta to keep me motivated <3 It might take a while to get more chapters out since I do wanna add art in this so please be patient. 
> 
> If you've got questions my Twitter is @Pulsing_Guts so feel free to follow for minor updates or just to interact with me! <3
> 
> HI!!! UPDATE: Join the discord I'm in ;D there's other great ao3 authors and artists in here too <33333 https://discord.gg/SNRbtTjc7P


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